


Nativity

by lalaland666 (orphan_account)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has PTSD (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is so sweet, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fucking with biblical canon for the sake of story, Humor, Light Angst, Like super light, M/M, barely even there, but not really, gabriel SUCKS, heaven sucks, im the dumb bitch, its me, just like tooth-rottingly heart-achingly sweet, some dumb bitch got feelings in the comedy fic, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 10:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21509812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lalaland666
Summary: Tadfield’s annual Nativity Play has arrived, and this year, Adam got an… interesting part.Based on this post: https://worse0mens.tumblr.com/post/189195538840/ineffable-dads-5
Relationships: Aziraphale & Adam Young (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 203





	Nativity

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to be funny, and then I somehow got feelings mixed up in it, and this is what happened. #sorrynotsorry 
> 
> also, this was all written in about three hours and barely proofread, let alone beta’d, so. apologies in advance y’all

It was mid-December, just under fifteen months after Armageddon arrived and passed with rather less of a bang than had generally been anticipated, and an angel and a demon were making their way back to Tadfield to visit their friends and relatively newly-adopted godchildren. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale yelped as the demon took a narrow turn far faster than was strictly necessary. 

“Yes, angel?” Crowley asked, turning his head fully away from the road to flash a smirk towards the passenger seat. 

“Crowley, you’re going to miss the cottage!” Aziraphale protested, pointing out the window. 

“Rather thought that was the point,” said Crowley, still grinning, as he threw the Bentley towards the curb and clambered out, stretching. 

The cottage in question was small and quaint, and had quite recently officially passed into the full legal possession of a very competent young witch and a slightly-less competent witch-finder. Crowley insisted that he had nothing to do with the fact that the elderly couple who had previously owned Jasmine Cottage had quite suddenly found themselves quite wealthy enough to not need the additional revenue from renting out their former home, and it was mostly true– lotteries can be strange things. 

Today, there were four children’s bicycles parked outside Jasmine Cottage alongside Anathema’s, and Aziraphale beamed at the sight. 

“Oh, look, the Them are here already!” he said as he clambered out of the car. “That makes tracking them down much easier.” 

Crowley just smiled. He’d always had a soft spot for kids, not that he’d ever admit it out loud. At least, not to anyone but Aziraphale. 

The angel in question had already made his way up to the door and was raising his fist to knock. Before he could, the door swung open, and a blur darted out, slamming into Aziraphale’s middle, and toppling him into the snow beside the house. 

Aziraphale yelped, hugging Adam back and tousling his hair fondly, before frowning down at him. 

“You haven’t got a coat on,” he said almost accusatorially, pushing the former Antichrist off of him and standing back up. “Did you leave the house without one?” 

“Actually, Adam just heard the Bentley and ran outside,” came a voice from the doorway– Wensleydale. 

Adam ignored both of them, instead running to the end of the drive to drag Crowley into a bone-crushing hug. 

“I missed you guys!” he said, drawing back and grinning. 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Crowley, unable to hide his own smile. “Go back inside, you’ll catch a cold.” 

As he spoke, Aziraphale and Crowley headed inside the door of Jasmine Cottage proper. The horseshoe above the door glowed slightly in protest at Crowley’s passing, but it let him in, and Crowley shoved the itch on his skin to the back of his mind as always. 

“Crowley’s right,” said Anathema, trying for reproachful, even as she pulled Aziraphale into a hug. “Hi, you two.” 

“Anathema, darling, how are you?” asked Aziraphale, beaming. “And Newton! I heard you moved in properly, has that been going well?” 

“Yeah,” said Newt, wrapping an arm around Anathema, grinning. “Yeah, it’s been good.” 

“How have you two been?” asked Anathema as Crowley mimicked the gesture with Aziraphale. “It’s been a while.” 

“Oh, you know, I’ve been so busy expanding the bookshop,” said Aziraphale, waving his hand airily as the group made their way towards the sitting-room. There were four mugs of cocoa sitting on the table– or, more accurately, there were three and a half mugs of cocoa sitting on the table. The other half of the fourth mug was spilled down Brian’s shirt. 

“Oh, dear,” said Aziraphale, tutting slightly at the sight. “Young man, how ever do you manage to make such a mess every time you eat?” 

“Dunno,” said Brian, setting his cup down and grinning up at his godfathers. “You guys were gone forever.” 

“Actually, it was just three months,” says Wensleydale. “But it felt like a very long time.” 

“Three months is hardly forever,” Aziraphale replied as Crowley practically threw himself down into one of the armchairs, sprawling across it. After all this time, Aziraphale still wasn’t entirely sure how a literal serpent had somehow managed to seemingly sprout twice the normal amount of limbs every time he sat. 

“How’ve you lot been?” asked Crowley, directing his question towards the children. “School treating you well?” 

“It’s been awful!” Pepper burst out, setting her own cocoa down with a thump, very nearly spilling on the latest issue of the _New Aquarian_. “Our English teacher is a typical example of the white patriarchal society that excludes women and people of colour from history. He’s not having us read _any_ books by girls this year!” 

“Ah, he’s one of those gits, is he?” asked Crowley, arching an eyebrow behind his glasses. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale protested, before turning his gaze back towards Pepper. “What sorts of books would you rather read?” 

“ _Anything_ else,” said Pepper, rolling her eyes. 

Crowley and Aziraphale shared a brief, knowing glance. That was one set of Christmas presents sorted, then. 

“And the rest of you?” Crowley asked. “As annoyed as Pepper with your English teacher?” 

“Actually, he’s rather annoying in general,” said Wensleydale as Adam lifted Dog up off of the couch so he could sit down instead. 

“Adam, tell them about how you burned down a tree so it fell on his car!” said Brian, grinning. 

“Adam!” Aziraphale protested. “Please tell me he wasn’t in the car at the time.” 

“I didn’t burn down the tree, I disintegrated it,” said Adam, rolling his eyes. “And it was during Mr. Taylor’s class, he was nowhere near it.” 

Crowley let out a hearty guffaw. “Good one, Adam.” 

Aziraphale frowned as sternly as he could manage. “Now, I don’t think it’s quite right to do something like that just for the crime of being a bit… erm… old-fashioned.” 

“When I told Mr. Taylor what you’d said about Oscar Wilde writing Dorian Grey as a commentary on queer society in England during the nineteenth century, he told me I was a silly child who needed to keep my mouth shut about things I didn’t understand,” said Pepper, righteous indignation in her voice. 

Aziraphale blinked. “Oh. Well. I suppose, in a case like that…” 

Crowley laughed again, and Aziraphale did his very best to glare at him despite the blush in his cheeks. 

“Oh!” said Adam, suddenly. “I forgot! We’re old enough to be real characters in the Nativity play this year.” 

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” said Aziraphale, incredibly grateful for the change of subject. “Have you had your auditions yet?” 

“Actually, the play’s next Sunday,” said Wensleydale. 

“We all got parts,” said Brian, grinning. “I’m one of the wise men.” 

“Me, too,” said Pepper, grinning. 

“Aren’t you technically a Wise Woman?” asked Brian. 

“That’s just sexist,” said Pepper, rolling her eyes. 

Crowley fought to hide his grin. He really liked Pepper. 

“I’m going to be one of the shepherds,” said Wensleydale. “It’s the same part I had last year, actually.” 

“That’s wonderful,” said Aziraphale, beaming. 

“Adam got the best part,” said Brian, grinning. “Tell ‘em, Adam!” 

Adam puffed out his chest slightly, grinning. “I’m playing the Messenger Angel, Gabriel.” 

Crowley felt every muscle in his body freeze, his eyes going wide behind his glasses. “You’re playing _who_?” 

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” said Aziraphale, and his smile was significantly more forced this time. “That’s… that’s a very important role.” 

“Did you know him? Gabriel?” asked Adam, eyes fixed on Aziraphale, not seeing the way Crowley had begun to look rather like a snake about to strike. 

“I did,” said Aziraphale, and his smile faltered slightly. “He was… well. He was my boss, in a sense.” 

“Oh, wicked!” said Adam, his grin widening. “What’s he like? Can you give me some tips?” 

“Well–“ began Aziraphale. 

“Right, we’ve gotta get a move on,” said Crowley, launching himself out of the armchair and grabbing onto Aziraphale’s arm with a vice grip. 

“What?” asked Adam, his face falling. “Why?” 

“But you just got here,” said Newt, his brow furrowed. 

Anathema didn’t say anything. She just stared, and Crowley thought he could see a fraction of his own concern in her eyes. Whether it was for Aziraphale or himself, he couldn’t tell. 

“Gotta go do some… stuff,” said Crowley, dragging Aziraphale towards the door. “Check in, do some things in town. Y’know. Real mystical stuff. See you all for dinner in a bit, my treat!” And with that, the door to Jasmine Cottage swung shut behind him, and Crowley snapped his fingers to teleport himself, Aziraphale, and the Bentley back to the little village motel they’d checked into about half an hour ago. 

As soon as they were inside, Aziraphale rounded on Crowley. “Why on Earth did you do that? You likely hurt Adam’s feelings terribly, he was so excited!” 

“He’s met the slimy git, he’s got no reason to be excited at all,” snarled Crowley, rolling his eyes. “I wasn’t gonna have you stuck there like that.” 

“I’m not some child who needs protecting, Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped. “I would have been perfectly fine talking about Gabriel for a minute.” 

“I wouldn’t have been!” Crowley shouted, hearing his voice crack ever so slightly and not caring. “Hearing you talk him up– and you would have, don’t even try to pretend– hearing you say nice things about him and having to remember how he’d looked at me, when he thought I was you…” Crowley’s voice trailed off, and he shook his head, half to get his point across and half to try and dislodge the image of those cold violet eyes. “I would’ve lost it.” 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale breathed, and then his angel’s arms were around him, and Crowley melted into the hug, resting his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder, pulling him as close as he could. 

They stayed like that for a long moment, not moving, not saying anything, just breathing. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but it was grounding. Reassuring. 

After a while, Aziraphale let out a small chuckle. “I do suppose you’re right. I likely would have started complimenting him. It’s not… there’s not…” He sighed heavily. “You know I have no regrets about what we’ve chosen.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Crowley answered it anyways. “Of course I do, angel.” 

“But sometimes… sometimes I can’t help but wonder… what Gabriel would think of the life I’m living now.” He chuckled again, but this time, it was darker, almost bitter. “And then I remind myself of what he thought of the things I did with my time, how little he thought of food and books and… and you…” He paused, took a deep breath, then forged on. “And I… I know exactly what he would think of this. What he would think of me. And it still… I suppose it still hurts, rather.” 

“That’s alright,” said Crowley, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale just a little tighter, shifting so his chin was resting on his angel’s head. “They never deserved you up there, but you still tried to please them for six thousand years. That takes a toll. Trust me.” 

“I suppose you would know,” said Aziraphale, sniffling slightly, feeling the tiniest of smiles spreading across his face. He pulled back, just far enough to cup Crowley’s face with one hand and draw him into a kiss. They stayed there for a while, not needing to breathe, and not really wanting to, either. 

Finally, Aziraphale pulled back, pressing their foreheads together instead and closing his eyes. “Thank you, my dearest.” 

“I love you, angel.” 

“I love you, too.” 

They were silent for another moment. 

Then Crowley sighed. “We probably should get back there and apologize.” 

“I do suppose we ought to, yes,” said Aziraphale, pulling Crowley into another kiss. 

They broke apart, and then headed back out to the Bentley, and Aziraphale braced himself for another harrowing ride. 

### 

Back at Jasmine Cottage, the rather abrupt departure had left a gaping silence in its wake. 

Adam was sitting with Dog in his lap now, frowning severely. “I hope I didn’t upset them.” 

“No,” said Anathema, shaking her head. “I don’t think it was your fault. Aziraphale and Crowley’s old bosses… weren’t very nice to them.” 

Adam nodded, still frowning. “I remember that. I didn’t know Gabriel was Aziraphale’s boss, though.” 

“Actually, it doesn’t make a lot of sense,” said Wensleydale. “Archangels are supposed to be lower down than Principalities.” 

“How do you know that?” asked Anathema, her brow furrowing. 

“That’s just Wensleydale,” said Brian, shrugging. 

“I read about it after Aziraphale said he was a Principality,” said Wensleydale. 

“Oh,” said Anathema. “Right.” 

“I guess the books got some things wrong,” said Adam, shrugging. “It happens all the time.” 

“Oh, yes, they do,” said Pepper, sitting up a little straighter and grinning. 

The conversation resumed then, for the most part. 

Adam still sat, silent, thinking. The way Aziraphale had reacted… 

He stayed silent up until the crowd heard the telltale rumbling of the Bentley outside again. 

Then he jumped up to his feet and ran to the door again to greet the couple. 

“Hey,” said Crowley, grinning down at Adam, his cheeks slightly pink. Adam couldn’t tell if it was from the cold outside or from embarrassment. “Sorry about that, kiddo.” 

“No, I’m sorry,” said Adam, leaning slightly so he could see Aziraphale around Crowley. “I shouldn’t have talked about your boss.” 

“Oh, no, dear, it’s not at all a problem,” said Aziraphale, waving his hand airily as Adam stepped aside, letting them in. Anathema emerged from the living room, hovering in the doorway, ready to jump in if Adam did anything else that might drive the two entities off again. 

“You’re alright, then?” asked Adam, narrowing his eyes slightly. 

“Of course I am,” said Aziraphale, smiling, and this smile was genuine, Adam could tell. “I was simply… caught off guard, is all. And I’m very happy for you. Truly. Gabriel is a… a very important role in the Nativity. I’m glad you go the part.” 

Adam’s brow furrowed. “You don’t seem very happy.” 

“Adam!” Anathema hissed, striding over to stand beside the boy. 

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, his voice quiet, and he felt Crowley drape an arm over his shoulder. “It’s nothing… well. It’s nothing against you at all, my dear boy, I hope you know that. I truly am very proud of you, and I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job in the play. It’s just… well. Nativity plays themselves tend to be… not the most accurate, if you must know.” 

Adam’s frown deepened. “How’re they wrong?” 

“Well…” Aziraphale paused, then sighed. 

“First off, Jesus was born in August, not December,” said Crowley, pulling Aziraphale slightly closer, trying to convey as much concern as he could in that little gesture. 

“Really?” asked Adam, taking a step towards the two beings. “Did you know him?” 

“I did,” said Crowley, smiling. “I sort of… tried to help, a little. As much as I could back then.” He remembered standing there in Golgotha, watching a remarkably kind young man get nailed up onto a cross. _I showed him all the kingdoms of the world… he’s a carpenter from Galillee, his travel opportunities are limited._ He hadn’t really meant to tempt Jesus away. Or, well, maybe he had. If he’d succeeded, maybe the poor lad would’ve lived a little longer. Stupid ineffable plan. 

“Wicked,” said Adam, grinning. “He was kind of, like, the first me, right? Except it wasn’t the Devil.” 

“Quite right,” said Aziraphale, smiling gently. “That was the meaning of the word Antichrist, after all.” 

Adam laughed. “If only Jesus wasn’t a baby in the nativity, then I could play him, instead!” 

That got a proper laugh out of Aziraphale, and Crowley as well, although the former still wouldn’t let go of the latter’s shoulders. 

Silence fell on the kitchen. In the next room over, Newt and the Them were still talking, their voices too quiet for Adam to make out. He hoped he wasn’t missing anything good. 

Then Adam spoke, slowly, trying to pick his words as carefully as he could so he didn’t scare Crowley off again. “Aziraphale, did you… did you know Jesus, too?” 

Aziraphale blinked, then let out a small laugh. “Well. I had met him, a handful of times. I wasn’t really meant to be interfering, after the whole business with Mary, but–“ 

Then he froze, his hand flying to his mouth. 

Adam frowned again. “What?” 

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale, his brow furrowing. “Angel? You alright?” 

“I’m– yes,” said Aziraphale, his hand fluttering back down to his side. That meant he wasn’t alright. 

“You sure?” asked Crowley. 

“Absolutely,” said Aziraphale, forcing another smile. “Tickety-boo, love.” 

That meant he was _really_ not alright. 

“I’m sorry,” said Adam quickly, feeling Anathema’s stare on him. “I didn’t mean–“ 

“Oh, no, it was nothing you did, dear,” said Aziraphale, waving his hand again like he was trying to clear away smoke. “Don’t you worry. I just… well. I suppose if I’m not technically an employee, it doesn’t much matter what I say anymore, does it?” 

The furrow in Crowley’s brow deepened further. “What’re you on about, angel?” 

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Um. Well. It’s… it’s nothing. Um. Adam, would you be a dear and–“ 

“I want to hear, too,” said Adam. 

Aziraphale blinked. “You– well. It’s about Gabriel, and I wouldn’t want– I wouldn’t want to colour your perception of the role, and–“ 

“Then I want to hear it even more,” said Adam, folding his arm stubbornly. “I asked earlier, didn’t I?” 

Aziraphale let out a little chuckle. “I suppose you did.” 

He cleared his throat, straightening up slightly, and Crowley’s grip on his shoulders tightened again, almost imperceptibly. Adam felt a brush of fur at his feet, and he looked down to see Dog, nuzzling up against him. 

Then Aziraphale began to speak. “Well. Um. See, Gabriel was rather… tetchy, about the whole… communicating with humans… business. He thought it… well, to be perfectly frank, he thought it beneath him in the majority of cases. So, oftentimes, when he was given a message, he would… he would have me actually deliver it. Said that he was the messenger, and I was the… the loyal vessel.” Aziraphale laughed. “It didn’t happen often, but… once or twice.” 

“When?” asked Crowley, and Adam noticed that he’d somehow shifted so that he was standing behind the angel, both arms wrapped around him, holding him more tightly than Adam had ever seen, even with his mum and dad. 

“Well,” said Aziraphale, his face going pink. “There was… there was that time with Daniel, Gabriel said that it was far too long-lasting of a mission for him to do it, Heaven couldn’t miss him for so long. And then there was… let me think. That business with Zacharias. And, well. With… with Mary.” 

Adam’s jaw dropped. “ _You_ were the angel who talked to Mary?” 

“I was,” said Aziraphale, his blush deepening. “And I wasn’t technically supposed to tell anyone about it– well. Uriel and Sandalphon knew, of course, they had me delivering messages for them, too, but I’m not sure Michael was ever informed, or the Metatron, and–“ 

“Angel,” said Crowley, his voice quiet. 

“Right,” said Aziraphale, blinking and shaking his head slightly. “Sorry.” 

Adam’s brow furrowed. “Then… why would the Bible say that it was Gabriel?” 

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, his hands fluttering slightly. “Well. It took quite some time for any sort of Bibles to be written, and when information is passed down for so long, it can get a little… scrambled. So someone saying that they have a message _from_ the Archangel Gabriel in the oral tradition becomes someone saying that they _are_ the Archangel Gabriel in the written work. It happens fairly often with traditions like this.” 

Adam grinned. “That’s wicked.” 

Aziraphale blinked. “Sorry?” 

“Not the– not the whole story getting confused bit,” said Adam. “You being the messenger. That’s wicked.” 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, the blush that had begun to fade returning slightly. “Thank you, dear.” 

“How often did Gabriel actually do his job?” asked Crowley. “How many times did he talk to humans?” 

“Well, he did rather like his clothes, so I would assume he talked to human tailors a number of times over the centuries–“ Aziraphale said quickly. 

“You know what I mean,” said Crowley, and he should’ve sounded exasperated, but he didn’t, Adam noticed. He just sounded… almost worried. “How many times did he do his own actual job?” 

Aziraphale’s hands fluttered again. “Well. It was, um.” 

“I want to hear,” said Adam, hoping it would spur Aziraphale to answer. 

Instead, Aziraphale almost… winced. “Well. It was just… just once, as far as I’m aware. With you, Adam.” 

Adam blinked. “With… with me? Did he tell my mum she was gonna have me, too?” 

“No,” said Aziraphale, letting out a tiny, wavering laugh. “I’m not… I’m not sure how much you remember, dear, but… on the airfield. When you… just after your eleventh birthday.” 

“When I was supposed to end the world?” asked Adam, frowning. “I don’t remember…” 

But he did. He remembered an angel, a tall, obnoxious, condescending American with a pale suit and purple eyes. “That was _Gabriel_?” 

“He never did say his name, did he?” said Aziraphale, laughing softly. “That part used to be very strictly required.” 

“Hang on,” said Anathema suddenly, turning to Adam. “You can remember what happened?” 

“Of course,” said Adam, frowning. “You can’t?” 

Anathema shook her head. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I do think… when you reset reality, Adam, you quite entirely erased Armageddon from existence. For humans, that is. Heaven and Hell remembered, and so did Crowley and I, and you, of course, since it was your doing, but… the rest of the world rather forgot.” 

“Oh,” said Adam, frowning. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” 

“It’s probably for the best,” said Crowley, shrugging. He was still holding Aziraphale close to him. “Better if most of the humans aren’t running around knowing they barely missed being sacrificed in a giant, idiotic game of chess or whatever.” 

“Quite,” said Aziraphale, nodding. 

Adam nodded, too, his mind racing off somewhere else. He was starting to get a strange thought… 

Anathema cleared her throat. “Right. Well, I’ll make some tea, and you three can head back into the living room. I think Newt’s probably about to agree to something dangerous, based on Pepper’s tone, so…” 

“Best go save him,” said Aziraphale, smiling down at Adam, then patting Crowley’s hand gently. “Pip-pip.” 

They walked into the living room together, and as the rest of the Them began questioning Crowley on what exactly had happened, Adam sat back down in front of his cocoa– miraculously warm again– to think. The thought had become an idea, which was slowly turning into a plan. 

That night, after a very nice dinner out with Anathema, Newt, Aziraphale, and Crowley, but before curfew technically hit, Adam gathered the rest of the Them close. 

“Listen up,” he said, pulling his friends close. “I figured out what happened with Aziraphale earlier, and I’ve got a plan for the Nativity play, but I’m gonna need your help.” 

### 

Aziraphale and Crowley arrived back home in London two days later with quite a long Christmas shopping list and a promise to be back in a week for the play. The latter was despite Crowley’s protests– away from the kids, of course, he hadn’t wanted to upset them, but he didn’t want to upset Aziraphale more. 

“I’ve told you, I’ll be quite alright,” said Aziraphale, smiling gently up at Crowley as he paced around the back room of the bookshop. 

“Will you?” asked Crowley, spinning around to face Aziraphale. “Having to watch that slick bastard take credit for everything you’ve done?” 

“It’s not like he’s claiming he invented temptation,” said Aziraphale pointedly. “When you did.” 

“I– look, when it’s Satan, it’s a little different,” said Crowley, rolling his eyes and collapsing dramatically onto the couch. “He was in charge, I couldn’t just–“ 

“Exactly,” said Aziraphale, his voice quiet. “No one was ever supposed to find out. No one was supposed to know. I couldn’t exactly run around claiming credit for the work of an Archangel, and even now…” Aziraphale’s voice shook slightly. “Even now, it’s… well. It’s a little frightening, to be perfectly honest. I keep half-expecting him to show up and berate me for giving it away.” Aziraphale shook his head slightly, a tiny, sour smile playing around his lips. “It’s silly, I know.” 

“No,” said Crowley immediately, managing to snag Aziraphale’s hand without standing up and pulling him over onto the couch. “No, it’s not silly. You spent six thousand years afraid of him, angel. Afraid of all of them. That’s not something that stops just because you leave.” 

Aziraphale nodded, ever so slightly. “I suppose you’d know.” 

Crowley chuckled. “Leaving was the first time I found out how scary they could be. And then they got worse.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “Worse?” 

Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer to him, resting his head on his angel’s shoulder, drinking in the scent of him, the smell of old books and hot cocoa and divinity and love. It was a heady, intoxicating mixture, and Crowley couldn’t get enough. “When I went up there. For your execution. They were _scary_ , angel, and I was so glad it was me in there, not you.” 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” said Aziraphale, gently planting a kiss amongst Crowley’s gorgeous auburn curls, slowly starting to grow out longer again. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” said Crowley, looking up at Aziraphale, his chin still resting on the angel’s shoulder. “It’s me who should be sorry. I’m sorry that I let them do that to you for so long. I had no idea…” 

“I never wanted you to,” said Aziraphale, kissing Crowley gently, just for a second. 

Then Aziraphale sighed. “I supposed I hadn’t really realized that there was an alternative. Not… not until… well. Not until you.” 

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, yellow eyes peering into blue, for a long, long minute. 

Then he lurched forwards, closing the distance between them with another kiss, this one longer, deeper, almost bruising in its intensity. 

When Crowley finally pulled back, panting, he cupped Aziraphale’s jaw in his hand, running his thumb gently along the angel’s cheek. “I love you, angel. I love you more than anything else in this entire God-forsaken universe.” 

“I know,” Aziraphale breathed, tangling his fingers in that gorgeous hair. “I love you, too, Crowley, more than anything. More than I ever knew one being could love another.” 

This time, when they kissed again, pulling each other closer, they hardly broke apart for the next few hours. 

### 

A week later, Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves back in Tadfield once more, this time in a primary school auditorium– as it turned out, the church basement where the play had meant to take place had flooded, and it was quite unusable. 

Oddly enough, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale was responsible– as a matter of fact, neither even knew the church had been the original intended venue. 

They were sitting together in the audience, now, beside Anathema, Newt, and Mr. and Mrs. Young, who really were quite taken with the older couple, though if pressed they couldn’t entirely tell why. Again, it wasn’t the doing of either entity on the receiving end. 

The curtains opened to reveal a young girl, sitting by a rough cardboard cutout of a well. She was dressed in a blue dress, with a white cloth draped somewhat haphazardly over her head. Aziraphale shifted slightly in his seat– she was far too pale to have been the actual Mary. For a moment, he wondered if Pepper would have done well in the role. Then he laughed at himself internally for even thinking it. 

Mary started to speak, and Aziraphale cringed slightly at the lines– they were forced and stilted, and he couldn’t entirely tell whether it was the fault of the poor young girl’s delivery or the script she was working off of. 

“Dear God, I am Mary, a young virgin. I am to be wed to Joseph very soon, and I really hope that nothing gets in the way of my wedding.” 

A sound, clearly meant to be some sort of magical sound effect, played through the crackling speakers, and Aziraphale felt a hand slide into his, squeezing slightly. He squeezed back, ever so gently, and gestured towards the stage with his chin– Adam was meant to be coming on. 

And so he did, and Aziraphale pressed a hand to his mouth. 

Adam’s hair, in all of its wild, curly volume, was entirely white, the same colour as the robes that Adam wore. He strode confidently up to the young girl playing Mary, who gave an exaggerated gasp, falling backwards. 

“Who are you?” she cried out. 

Adam paused, his gaze scanning the crowd, and finally landing on Aziraphale, who gave him a broad grin of encouragement. 

Then he cleared his throat, clasped his hands behind his back– Aziraphale recognized that gesture, though he couldn’t say from where– and spoke, his voice loud and clear. “I am the angel Aziraphale, a messenger from God. I come with good news for you, Mary.” 

Aziraphale clapped a hand to his mouth, stifling a gasp. The rest of the audience didn’t react. No noises, no whispers, nothing. 

Nothing except for the sudden tightening of Crowley’s grip on Aziraphale’s hand. 

“What news do you bring?” asked the young girl. 

“You have been chosen by God,” said Adam, his voice still loud and confident, far more confident than Aziraphale ever remembered himself being, but he found that he didn’t particularly mind the inaccuracy. “If you wish, you may carry Her child.” 

That brought a slight murmur from the crowd, but the actors on stage ignored it. 

“Why me?” asked Mary. 

“You are pure, and kind, and good,” said Adam, a soft smile spreading across his face, and Aziraphale felt Crowley’s grip tighten again. “You will not be forced to do anything you don’t want to, but if you wish, you may carry God’s child in human form. He is mean to save humanity from damnation.” 

“But how can I carry a child if I am a virgin?” Mary asked, rather over-dramatically. 

“He will be a miracle child,” said Adam. “And he will bring salvation to all the kingdoms of the world.” 

Aziraphale gently gave Crowley’s hand a squeeze. _I showed him all the kingdoms of the world._

“Very well,” said Mary. “I will gladly carry the child of God.” 

“Good luck, my dear,” said Adam gently, and Aziraphale’s breath hissed in, entirely against his will. There were tears forming in his eyes, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to lower his hand from his mouth. 

Adam glanced into the crowd once more, locking eyes with Aziraphale and giving him a quick grin. 

Then he left the stage. 

The rest of the play was fine, tolerable mostly because of the love the children had clearly poured into it, but Aziraphale could hardly pay attention. Once, during the shepherd scene, Adam re-emerged, hair still blindingly white and mannerisms still far gentler than Gabriel could ever have managed, and Aziraphale felt the tears that had begun to recede threatening to spill over again once more, even as Crowley brushed his thumb against Aziraphale’s in gentle, soothing motions. He didn’t really need soothing, after all. Not from this. 

The breaking point came at the end, when the narrator came out and began reading off the characters for bows. Wensleydale was first, quiet and smart as ever, and then Pepper, who smirked at the listing of “Wise Man”, and then Brian, as enthusiastic as ever. 

Adam was third from the end of the row, and when the narrator reached him, he read out, clear as day, “And playing the angel Aziraphale, messenger of God, is Adam Young!” 

Adam bowed, and Aziraphale couldn’t stop his tears from spilling over. 

After the show, the children all emerged into the hall, and Adam was quickly accosted by his parents, who hugged and kissed and congratulated him endlessly. 

Aziraphale, Crowley, Anathema, and Newt hung back a little ways, just out of the pressing reach of the crowd. Aziraphale had long wiped away his tears, but his eyes and nose were still red, despite his very best efforts. 

“Crowley, dear, this wasn’t anything to do with you, was it?” he asked, his voice quiet. 

Crowley shook his head, a small smile playing around his lips. “Nope. Demon’s honor.” 

“I think that’s a little oxymoronic,” said Anathema, raising an eyebrow. 

“Demons are surprisingly honest,” said Crowley, shrugging slightly. “Most of ‘em just don’t have enough of an imagination to lie.” 

“Right,” said Newt, blinking. 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, squeezing Crowley’s hand gently, “here they come!” 

The children descended upon the small group, all four of them beaming. Adam ran immediately up to Aziraphale, his hair still white– it was one of those spray-on dyes, Aziraphale could see it properly now he was closer– and hugged him tightly. 

Aziraphale hugged the young boy back, tears threatening to spill once again. 

“Alright, what did you lot do?” asked Crowley, looking away from mussing up Pepper’s hair long enough to grin over at Adam, who finally released Aziraphale. 

“Well, I can still change a couple things,” said Adam, shrugging. “I don’t think it really spread beyond Tadfield, but here, everyone knows about you and Mary. Not the others, I’m sorry, I couldn’t remember their names–“ 

“That’s quite alright,” said Aziraphale, his voice quiet, as he beamed down at the young boy. “Thank you, dear.” 

“I didn’t want that stuck-up jerk getting all the credit,” said Adam, shrugging and grinning. “And you’re a whole lot more fun to play, anyways.” 

“Hey!” protested Newt. “Language!” 

“He’s twelve, Newt, let him speak,” said Anathema, grinning. 

“Still,” said Aziraphale, still beaming, unable to stop himself. “Thank you.” 

Adam gave Aziraphale another hug, and it was returned tenfold by the still-slightly-teary-eyed angel. 

After a long moment, Aziraphale let Adam go, sniffling slightly and straightening his jacket. “You, um. You ought to get back to your parents. I’m sure you’ve got plans for the evening, to celebrate.” 

“We do, actually,” said Wensleydale, grinning. “All our families are going out to dinner together!” 

“Oh, how delightful,” said Aziraphale. “Do enjoy yourselves, children.” 

“Thank you!” called the Them, hurrying off together, exchanging grins as they went. The plan had worked perfectly. 

“Angel, we ought to get a move on, too,” said Crowley, slipping his hand back into Aziraphale’s, their fingers intertwining. “Let’s get you home, hm?” 

“I– well. Yes, that’s probably a good idea,” said Aziraphale, somehow managing not to cry again. Instead, he turned to Anathema and Newt. “I do hope we’ll be seeing you for Christmas?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Anathema, grinning. “Bye, you two.” 

“Bye,” said Newt, waving, his arm wrapping around Anathema’s shoulders as the angel and demon left. 

Once they were well out of earshot, Newt looked down at Anathema, his ever-present confused stare increased by tenfold. “Why was Aziraphale crying?” 

Anathema laughed, leading Newt off towards Dick Turpen. “C’mon, I’ll explain when we get home. You’re driving that monster.” 

“I always do,” muttered Newt. 

Meanwhile, in an entirely different car, Aziraphale was sitting in the passenger seat, trying and failing to hold back a proper cry. 

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” he said, his breath hitching slightly, as he wiped tears from his cheeks. “I don’t… I don’t know what’s gotten into me, it was just a silly nativity play–“ 

“Angel,” said Crowley, his voice gentle as anything as he reached out, taking hold of Aziraphale’s hands and pulling them away from his face, “it’s alright to cry. You didn’t get nearly enough recognition in Heaven for all the good you’ve done. It’s alright to be emotional when you get some.” 

“I know,” said Aziraphale, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “I just… oh, I feel so terribly silly about it. It’s just… well, it’s a rather odd feeling, going from never once having someone other than you tell me I’ve done well to having a starring role in a children’s play.” He laughed, ever so softly. “It’s just bizarre, is all. I’ll be quite alright, Crowley, so we can leave whenever you’re ready.” 

Crowley, however, was stuck a little ways back. “Wait. Never once hearing– you mean, after everything you did, they never– not even one time–“ 

Aziraphale blinked. “Oh, well. They always. Well. Gabriel always managed to find some mistake I’d made. Or Sandalphon would go and smite the people I’d been trying to save, or Uriel would… well, I don’t think Uriel really approved of anything anyone did, so I suppose that’s not entirely relevant to me– or, well, sometimes Michael would just point out that the whole effort was doomed.” He winced slightly– that business with Warlock still stung somewhat. “It never really… came up, I suppose.” 

Crowley just stared, silent, seething. Aziraphale gripped his hands a little tighter, hoping to bring him back to himself. 

It sort of worked. The glasses vanished off of Crowley’s face, revealing eyes gone almost entirely yellow. 

“Those bastards,” he snarled. “You’re amazing, Aziraphale. You’ve done so many incredible things. And they never–“ 

“It’s alright, Crowley,” said Aziraphale softly. 

“No, it isn’t!” Crowley yelled, yanking his hands from Aziraphale’s to throw them up in the air. “It’s absolutely not alright! How could it ever be alright? How could anyone ever see you and–“ 

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, his voice quiet and gentle. 

“And not having anyone say anything positive for six thousand years, for Somebody’s sake, even Hell occasionally told me I was doing well–“ 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, more firmly this time, managing to seize one of Crowley’s flailing hands and bringing it to his lips. 

Crowley fell silent. 

“I don’t need their approval,” said Aziraphale. “I never did. Not really. I have yours, and that is far, far more important.” 

Crowley stared at his angel, a lump forming in his throat. “Oh.” 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, smiling softly. 

Then he leaned forwards and kissed Crowley, soft and gentle, and Crowley pulled him in deeper, never wanting to let go. 

Eventually, though, he had to. He had to get them back to London. 

There, he could kiss his angel properly, show him just how much of Crowley’s approval he had. 

Aziraphale, meanwhile, settled into the passenger’s seat, a gentle warmth blooming in his chest. Adam truly was something special, wasn’t he? With or without his powers, he was an incredible boy. 

And back in Tadfield, as Adam settled into bed for the night, a few strands of his hair still stubbornly white, he couldn’t help but grin at the memory of his angelic godfather’s face, lit up with joy and love. It was the way Adam felt about Tadfield, about his friends, about his mum and dad. It was a wonderful feeling, that happiness. That love. 

It was, Adam decided as he fell slowly asleep, the best part of being human. And if Christmas in England that year was just a little more generally joyous than most years, well, that couldn’t really be blamed on anyone in particular, could it? Sometimes, every so often, however ineffably, things work themselves out in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so.… i didn’t really know how to end this mess. i hope you guys liked it anyways!!!! comments and kudos are always super appreciated


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